Virginia Tech: A Cho-ose Your Own Adventure
It would be stupid to go out the front entrance of the dorms with all those cops swarming around. It might take longer to drop your media package off at the student union, but it will reduce your chances of getting caught.
You take the staircase all the way to the basement and exit out the door by the loading dock. After circling around to the far side of the dorm, you move to cross over the drill field, walking at a brisk pace but not running. You don't want to call attention to yourself.
Once you've crossed the length of the field, you figure you're in the clear. If the cops were looking for you, they would have found you by now. You head over to the student union, confident you can pull off your slaughter with ease now.
You head over to the student post office. You planned to just stuff it in the slot and go, but the slot is locked shut with a sign above it. DUE TO TRASH BEING STUCK IN THIS DROP ALL OUTGOING MAIL MUST BE TURNED IN AT THE COUNTER. Dammit...you walk inside where there is a line of students waiting for some slow work-study plebe to weigh their packages or sell them a book of stamps. The line isn't that big, but you're impatient. You wanna get on with the killing already.
While waiting, you eavesdrop on two sorority girls who are ahead of you in line...
"Did you check your e-mail yet?" the blonde one says before snapping her gum.
"Yessss. What was up with that?"
"Oh, did Brandon take you off his Facebook page too?"
"No. I'm talking about the one that said there was a shooting on campus."
"A shooting?"
"Yeah, I guess it took place, like, at one of the dorms this morning."
"Ohmygawd," the other one gasps. "That's, like, so sad."
"Also, I don't think they caught the person yet. They might still be walking around on campus."
"That's so scary," the blonde one says. "We'll have to make T-shirts about it or something."
"Definitely..."
Your ego swells as news of your rampage is already spreading. You let out a sinister chuckle. One of the sorority girls ahead of you turns around and gives you a nasty look.
"What's so funny about that?"
"Um. Nothing."
She looks you up and down. "What are you supposed to be? Some loser boy scout or something?"
Boy scout? You are about to pull out your Glock and blow this sorority bitch's head off, but you calm yourself down. Not here. Soon, you will make them all see.
The sorority girl rolls her eyes and turns away from you. After five more minutes, it's finally your turn at the counter. You hand the work-study loser your envelope and march right out of the post office, out of the student union, and head straight for Norris Hall.
It's a little after nine when you arrive and the hallways of the building are clear except for a few stragglers since classes are in session. Originally, you planned to be here when people were just arriving, hoping to catch them in the halls. You had a perfect chokepoint laid out and figured if you got the people in the back first, the ones in front would trip over the bodies, making it easy pickings for you.
Still, you realize you have another opportunity...now that everyone is in class, you can trap them in the rooms. If you start on the second floor, no one will be able to get out the windows without injuring themselves, adding to your body count.
You use the bike chains to keep everyone out and your victims in. You figure if anyone gives you shit, you'll just blow them away, but no one interferes. Once you have them all sealed in, you pull out both your guns. Time to start killin'.
You march up to the second floor and peek into the first classroom you see. It's a French class. The professor looks at you and says, "Que voulez-vous?"
"I'm gonna kill you all," you say scowling, hoping your face exposes the abyss of hatred you are to your soon to be victims.
"Ah-ah-ah," the professor says. "En francais..."
You don't know what that means so shoot three bullets at her head that obliterate her face and leave a smear of blood over the chalkboard.
The students in the class start screaming, "Oh la-la!" and you start shooting at the crowd indiscriminately. You shoot until the slides on both your pistols lock open, bullet casings jingling to the linoleum floor. There are about three bodies laying in rapidly expanding pools of blood, and you can count a several more wounded writhing in pain on the floor who get trampled by the no-so severely wounded who are rushing around trying to find any sort of cover they can find in the room.
You stick the Glock in your armpit while you fish out two more magazines from your vest, ejecting the empties on the ground and leaving them. You've practiced reloading so much that you can get both your guns ready to fire again in less than ten seconds.
The students in the classroom are screaming and rushing to open the windows. One guy manages to jump out and you hear a wet snap as he shatters his legs falling from the second story. Another one is getting up to try to jump out the window despite what happened to his classmate, but you shoot him between his shoulder blades before he can get out.
Instead of firing indiscriminately, you choose your targets more carefully this time, only firing at people who still seem to be alive. There's a blonde girl hiding behind some metal bookshelves (possibly the best cover in the room) clutching a English-French dictionary to her chest.
"Please...please Jesus don't kill me please..."
You don't say anything, you just raise your gun at her. She yelps and holds the dictionary in front of her like it will protect her from the five bullets you fire. She slumps to floor, leaving a smear of blood as she slides down.
You look around the room and pump a few extra bullets into some assholes who are doing a bad job of playing dead. There's tons of blood and mayhem everywhere. The people in this classroom surrendered easily though (after all, it is, ahem, was a French class). You wonder if the rest of your rampage will go as easy.
So you leave the class and head to the next one and do your thing, then the next one after that. Damn, this is almost too easy. Besides some old heeb, hardly anyone gives you even rudimentary resistance. You go on nearly unimpeded for twenty minutes.
You unload an entire clip into some swarthy Engineering student (is there any other type) and giggle as his body twitches with each hit. While reloading your gun, you become aware of the numerous police sirens flashing outside. Looks like the cops are on this shooting a bit faster than the last one. You figure you can keep on looking around for a few minutes for some more victims, but the pickings are getting sparse. Everyone is either hiding or ran off by now.
You head back towards the French classroom where you started. There seems to be fewer bodies in her than when you left (you figure that some of the ones who managed to survive slipped away while you were in other classrooms. You sit down exhausted. Killing sure is hard work. You contemplate shooting it out with the pigs. You still have enough ammo to smoke some pork.
Then again, what would happen if they caught you alive? You would bring great shame on your family.
You hear gunfire downstairs. The heavy thump of a shotgun using a breaching cartridge to blast the lock off one of the doors you have chained shut. You hear the patter of boots downstairs. They're coming.
You put the barrel of your Glock against your temple and pull the trigger and for the briefest moment before the bullet tears through your frontal lobe sends it against the wall with a big red splat, you feel contentment. You are now the perpetrator of the largest spree killing in American history, and further proof that Asians are over-achievers.
You take the staircase all the way to the basement and exit out the door by the loading dock. After circling around to the far side of the dorm, you move to cross over the drill field, walking at a brisk pace but not running. You don't want to call attention to yourself.
Once you've crossed the length of the field, you figure you're in the clear. If the cops were looking for you, they would have found you by now. You head over to the student union, confident you can pull off your slaughter with ease now.
You head over to the student post office. You planned to just stuff it in the slot and go, but the slot is locked shut with a sign above it. DUE TO TRASH BEING STUCK IN THIS DROP ALL OUTGOING MAIL MUST BE TURNED IN AT THE COUNTER. Dammit...you walk inside where there is a line of students waiting for some slow work-study plebe to weigh their packages or sell them a book of stamps. The line isn't that big, but you're impatient. You wanna get on with the killing already.
While waiting, you eavesdrop on two sorority girls who are ahead of you in line...
"Did you check your e-mail yet?" the blonde one says before snapping her gum.
"Yessss. What was up with that?"
"Oh, did Brandon take you off his Facebook page too?"
"No. I'm talking about the one that said there was a shooting on campus."
"A shooting?"
"Yeah, I guess it took place, like, at one of the dorms this morning."
"Ohmygawd," the other one gasps. "That's, like, so sad."
"Also, I don't think they caught the person yet. They might still be walking around on campus."
"That's so scary," the blonde one says. "We'll have to make T-shirts about it or something."
"Definitely..."
Your ego swells as news of your rampage is already spreading. You let out a sinister chuckle. One of the sorority girls ahead of you turns around and gives you a nasty look.
"What's so funny about that?"
"Um. Nothing."
She looks you up and down. "What are you supposed to be? Some loser boy scout or something?"
Boy scout? You are about to pull out your Glock and blow this sorority bitch's head off, but you calm yourself down. Not here. Soon, you will make them all see.
The sorority girl rolls her eyes and turns away from you. After five more minutes, it's finally your turn at the counter. You hand the work-study loser your envelope and march right out of the post office, out of the student union, and head straight for Norris Hall.
It's a little after nine when you arrive and the hallways of the building are clear except for a few stragglers since classes are in session. Originally, you planned to be here when people were just arriving, hoping to catch them in the halls. You had a perfect chokepoint laid out and figured if you got the people in the back first, the ones in front would trip over the bodies, making it easy pickings for you.
Still, you realize you have another opportunity...now that everyone is in class, you can trap them in the rooms. If you start on the second floor, no one will be able to get out the windows without injuring themselves, adding to your body count.
You use the bike chains to keep everyone out and your victims in. You figure if anyone gives you shit, you'll just blow them away, but no one interferes. Once you have them all sealed in, you pull out both your guns. Time to start killin'.
You march up to the second floor and peek into the first classroom you see. It's a French class. The professor looks at you and says, "Que voulez-vous?"
"I'm gonna kill you all," you say scowling, hoping your face exposes the abyss of hatred you are to your soon to be victims.
"Ah-ah-ah," the professor says. "En francais..."
You don't know what that means so shoot three bullets at her head that obliterate her face and leave a smear of blood over the chalkboard.
The students in the class start screaming, "Oh la-la!" and you start shooting at the crowd indiscriminately. You shoot until the slides on both your pistols lock open, bullet casings jingling to the linoleum floor. There are about three bodies laying in rapidly expanding pools of blood, and you can count a several more wounded writhing in pain on the floor who get trampled by the no-so severely wounded who are rushing around trying to find any sort of cover they can find in the room.
You stick the Glock in your armpit while you fish out two more magazines from your vest, ejecting the empties on the ground and leaving them. You've practiced reloading so much that you can get both your guns ready to fire again in less than ten seconds.
The students in the classroom are screaming and rushing to open the windows. One guy manages to jump out and you hear a wet snap as he shatters his legs falling from the second story. Another one is getting up to try to jump out the window despite what happened to his classmate, but you shoot him between his shoulder blades before he can get out.
Instead of firing indiscriminately, you choose your targets more carefully this time, only firing at people who still seem to be alive. There's a blonde girl hiding behind some metal bookshelves (possibly the best cover in the room) clutching a English-French dictionary to her chest.
"Please...please Jesus don't kill me please..."
You don't say anything, you just raise your gun at her. She yelps and holds the dictionary in front of her like it will protect her from the five bullets you fire. She slumps to floor, leaving a smear of blood as she slides down.
You look around the room and pump a few extra bullets into some assholes who are doing a bad job of playing dead. There's tons of blood and mayhem everywhere. The people in this classroom surrendered easily though (after all, it is, ahem, was a French class). You wonder if the rest of your rampage will go as easy.
So you leave the class and head to the next one and do your thing, then the next one after that. Damn, this is almost too easy. Besides some old heeb, hardly anyone gives you even rudimentary resistance. You go on nearly unimpeded for twenty minutes.
You unload an entire clip into some swarthy Engineering student (is there any other type) and giggle as his body twitches with each hit. While reloading your gun, you become aware of the numerous police sirens flashing outside. Looks like the cops are on this shooting a bit faster than the last one. You figure you can keep on looking around for a few minutes for some more victims, but the pickings are getting sparse. Everyone is either hiding or ran off by now.
You head back towards the French classroom where you started. There seems to be fewer bodies in her than when you left (you figure that some of the ones who managed to survive slipped away while you were in other classrooms. You sit down exhausted. Killing sure is hard work. You contemplate shooting it out with the pigs. You still have enough ammo to smoke some pork.
Then again, what would happen if they caught you alive? You would bring great shame on your family.
You hear gunfire downstairs. The heavy thump of a shotgun using a breaching cartridge to blast the lock off one of the doors you have chained shut. You hear the patter of boots downstairs. They're coming.
You put the barrel of your Glock against your temple and pull the trigger and for the briefest moment before the bullet tears through your frontal lobe sends it against the wall with a big red splat, you feel contentment. You are now the perpetrator of the largest spree killing in American history, and further proof that Asians are over-achievers.
